


Pottering Around

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Demons, Evening Classes, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-03
Updated: 2004-03-03
Packaged: 2019-08-08 22:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16437842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley join a pottery class.





	Pottering Around

Martin eyed the newcomers nervously. They weren't at all like the normal sort of people he had coming to his pottery classes. They weren't retired people looking for a hobby to fill their newly available time, they weren't slightly wild-eyed characters seeking a way out of the rat race, and they didn't seem to think of themselves as artistically inclined. They'd strolled in late to the class - well, one of them had strolled in late, looking like he was deliberately making a dramatic entrance, the other had scurried in after him, muttering apologies.

"There's space over there," Martin said, pointing at the back table.

"Huh."

"Sorry, sorry. We got lost, and the _traffic_ \--"

But they had settled in nicely, once they'd taken their jackets off, and the younger fellow had carefully put his nice watch in his pocket. Now they were as happily messing about with the clay as any of the others in the class.

* * *

Next week the doors flew open in a dramatic manner again, and they stalked and scurried to their places respectively. Martin checked up on them halfway through, glad to see they seemed to be getting more confident in their use of the clay. Everyone else was carefully layering coils of clay into rather wobbly pots. The new people seemed to be doing something else though.

"What's this?" Martin asked brightly, peering at the very neat container-thing the older gent was making. He really did seem to have a way with the clay.

"A tabernacle," came the equally bright answer.

"Ah. Very nice! Keep it up. And what are you making?"

The younger gent pushed his designer sunglasses up his nose and looked unsmiling into Martin's face.

"An idol."

Martin retreated back to the wobbly pots.

* * *

In the third class he showed everyone how to throw a lump of clay on a wheel. Everyone looked quite excited, he thought, gratified. Behind him, the doors slammed open. He sighed and gestured towards the places at the end.

"All ready for you, gentlemen."

Martin spent most of the class dealing with disasters. Pieces of clay flying around the room, pots spontaneously collapsing. It was all fairly normal stuff for beginners. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the two gents at the end lift perfect pots off their wheels and begin to fidget. Let them wait, he thought, dodging a splodge of ex-pot.

As he worked his way down the room he saw that the gents at the end seemed to be making little figures out of spare clay. Well, it kept them out of harms way. The younger gent had made a few little figures, and seemed to be blowing on them. How odd.

"And how are we doing?" Martin asked cheerfully, coming up behind them as they peered intently down at the younger gent's wheel.

"Twenty on the one on the right," the older gent was saying.

Martin caught a quick glimpse of the little figures fighting with tiny clay spears, and then a thin, pale hand slammed down on them.

"We're doing just fine," the younger gent said. "And how are you this evening?"

Muffled squeaks filtered up between his fingers, and he grinned. He had awfully sharp teeth, Martin saw. Martin smiled politely and headed back up the room.

* * *

They didn't come back the next week. Martin was really quite relieved.


End file.
